Start Again
by ArmidaLore01
Summary: AU. "When Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again." Does that include when the world has ended in a zombie apocalypse?
1. Prolouge: The Return

Two of my favorite tv shows in one fanfic! I adore the Walking Dead and Merlin, and I really wanted to put these two fandoms together. I really hope you all enjoy it:)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Walking Dead or Merlin. They belong to their rightful owners.

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><p>He felt a gentle tug pull the sides of his mouth up in a triumphant smirk as he pressed down on the trigger, watching as the arrow whistled through the air with unwavering confidence that it would not fail to reach its target. The sound of his weapon imbedding itself in the squirrel, tearing through the flesh of their future meal, and the sharp thud indicating the arrowhead hit wood reached his ears, and with a soft click of his tongue, he urged Nelly forward to retrieve his prize. Once the squirrel was securely attached to his belt, he set forward once more.<p>

Blue-grey eyes narrowed his fierce concentration, glancing at his surroundings. The little girl was still out there, and she could have passed through here. He examined the woods with careful thoroughness, his eyes scanning the forest floor, the bark on the trees, the leaves, searching for any sign of a disturbance that could indicate the little girl's whereabouts.

He wasn't sure how he managed to find it, but upon jumping down off Nelly's back and trekking his way down the hill toward the river for a closer look at the familiar looking object, he knew his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Sophia's doll.

His pace increased slightly as he moved forward, reaching down and picking up the soaked doll. The fabric was filthy and tearing slightly, water dripping from the ends. He looked up, searching. Was she somewhere nearby?

"Sophia!" he called out, a small, lingering hope in the back of his mind, no matter how illogical it was, that she could hear him. There was no reply.

A newfound determination filling him, he turned around and went back to the tied up mare.

He continued on horseback for a while, eventually coming upon a steep cliff. A few birds squaked and disappeared in a flurry of feathers at his approach. Nelly snorted nervously, bucking her head back, away from the cliff and the noise.

"Hey, hey , whoaaa. C'mon girl," he soothed, pulling the reins away from the cliff, steering the mare to walk parallel to it. He continued his search, eyes narrowed, hips moving in tandem with Nelly's sway.

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming.

For all the grief he had given Andrea before about her lack of observing skills, for all he had done in order to build up that reputation he had with the group of being the most observant, he _really_ should have seen it coming. But he had stupidly kept his eyes up, opting to stare off into the trees toward his right, instead of paying attention to what was in front of him.

And he hadn't seen the snake until he was already halfway off of Nelly's saddle, the mare neighing in a mortified panic as she and reared and bucked furiously, successfully throwing him off on her second try.

The snake slithered away, unharmed, as he tumbled down the cliff.

Every impact his body made going down the cliff, every time a limb or his head met the ground, a tree branch, a stump, a rock, everything was met with a wild, pained gasp. And he could not for the life of him stop his rapid descent down the cliff, his hands surely cut up and bloody from his attempts. A scathing, white-hot flash of pure agony struck with such a fierceness in his side that he wanted to cry out, to scream, but yet another tumble prevented this, and he could only gasp as the air was knocked out of him.

He didn't know when his fall turned wet, but there he was, no longer tumbling but sliding down a slippery rock, water from a nearby waterfall soaking the rock and drenching him. Again, he couldn't stop his fall, his hands slipping and sliding every time he tried.

All he could do was brace himself for the end.

It came a lot quicker than he anticipated, the strong impact once again leaving him breathless, a strong form of suffocation overcoming him as the water splashed in his face and came up past his ears, leaving him gasping in the shallow end of the river.

"Son of a bitch!" he hissed, eyes clenched together as he realized what the source of the pain in his side was.

One of his arrows had pierced him.

Groaning and panting, he lifted his head up to inspect the damage. It had gone through clean, but he knew he had to act fast; the reddening water around him indicated his rapid loss of blood.

With a loud cry that sounded more like a whimper, Daryl dragged himself to his feet, hand propped up on his side to try to slow down the blood flow. Cautiously, he waded into the deeper water, doing his best to not let the current shift his balance. He stumbled the last few steps, gasping in agony.

His knees on the shore, he reached back and pulled out his knife, turning it towards his sleeves and splitting them from the seams. Using as much strength as he could, he took the sleeves and make a makeshift tourniquet, knowing it wasn't much, but it was all he could do until he returned back to Hershel's farm.

But before he could think about returning, he needed his crossbow.

He glanced around frantically, searching for his prime weapon. Seeing that it was not in sight, Daryl knew that left one other option: it was in the river. Teeth clenched and brows furrowed together tightly, he staggered over to the nearby trees, hoping to find a branch of some sort to use as a staff. Fortunately, he did not have to look long; he pull out a long, straight branch that he was sure could hold his weight. Huffing, he turned back to the water.

Finding his crossbow was a harder task than he thought it would be; he used the branch as a guide, skimming the lake river bed with it, trying to see if it would hit anything hard. However, this was done in the deepest part of the river, so he struggled to keep his balance, the branch serving a second purpose for this, and trying not to strain his injury. When he finally did find his crossbow and pulled it out of the depths of the river, he waded back to shore.

A strange bubbling sound made him halt, already in the shallow part of the river. The bubbling grew louder and louder, and cautiously Daryl turned to look behind him.

He wasn't expecting the river to bubble furiously as if boiling at the spot in which he had retrieved his crossbow, nor for the head that surfaced in the middle.

"Oh shit!" Daryl gasped, throwing his crossbow onto the dry shore in his haste to go back into the river. His injury flared and throbbed in protest, but he could only focus on one thing: someone needed his help, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let him drown.

The water slowed his movements dramatically, and his injury wasn't helping, but he pushed his body forward, swimming with harsh strokes as he noticed the man's head sinking. He cursed and dove into the water, blindly searching for the man with his hands, swimming and searching.

His hands brushed against something… _metal_? He kicked forward and identified an arm and he kicked upward, a deep, wild gasp leaving him as he gulped in the oxygen he desperately needed. Blinking the water out of his eyes, he glanced at the unconscious man in his arms as he struggled to pull him back to shore. Was he wearing…. _armor_?

Explains why the hell he's so heavy, Daryl thought darkly, grunting and groaning with the effort as he pulled the man closer and closer to shore, trying his hardest to not add any more strain than he already did to his injury. Unfortunately, his heroic action seemed to take a large toll on him; he was starting to see black at the edge of his vision.

One last heave and they were on the narrow, shallow area of the river, where he laid the man down. His blonde hair looked very brown from being soaked, and he looked young. But what Daryl couldn't fathom was why on earth he was wearing _armor_, of all things.

"Oh God, c'mon," Daryl hissed, crawling forward and beginning to take off the armor. Miraculously, he somehow managed to remove it, and threw it aside, revealing a dark red tunic in its place. Daryl placed his head on the man's chest. He found a faint heartbeat, but without the man breathing it wouldn't be beating much longer.

"C'mon," he urged, placing the heel of his hand in the middle of his chest, his other hand interlacing with the first, and began to do compressions. "Come on!" He counted 30 compressions, and no change. With a growl, he tilted the man's head back, pinching his nostrils shut and covered his mouth with his own. His breath caused the man's chest to rise, but still the man wouldn't wake. Daryl moved his head to the side, drew in a deep breath and repeated the process.

He moved to do compressions again when a wave of strong fatigue hit him. He blinked rapidly as the black around his vision began to draw in even more, shaking his head rapidly. The arrow in his side was finally showing its full effect, and the blood he lost was slowing his movements, making him sluggish and drowsy.

"No, no, no," Daryl muttered, blinking his eyes rapidly, shaking his head. "No, come on!"

Adrenaline filled him as he placed his hands on the man's chest again, continuing the compressions.

_6...7….8…._

"C'mon!"

_14...15...16…._

"_Come on_!"

_21...22 -_

The man spluttered, coughing and hacking, water spewing past his lips as he tried to clear his lungs. Daryl almost collapsed in relief. The man beat at his chest, deep, rumbling coughs leaving him as the last of the water left him and he was gulping down air. Daryl softly hit the man's back with a closed fist, helping him ride out the last of the ordeal.

His arm fell, and Daryl fell with it, collapsing to his side as the darkness darted across his vision, the pain in his side almost unbearable to deal with consciously. The man, fully aware of his company by then, was staring at him with wide eyes, and he moved forward, placing a freezing, still-wet hand on Daryl's bare arm.

Daryl voice came out in a mutter, as his vision began to turn blurry.

"Who… Who the hell are you s'pposed to be?"

The man, startled at Daryl's voice, jumped and stammered, "I'm- I-I'm Arthur."

Daryl gasped as his side struck another agonizing blow. "Well, _Arthur_, you're freakin' welcome."

His voice was weak, and his vision was leaving him. The last thing he saw was Arthur's wide, cerulean-blue eyes before he succumbed to the darkness.


	2. Chapter 1: Rough Start

Here's chapter one of Start Again. Hopefully I'll be able to update regularly. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of either the Walking Dead or Merlin. They belong to their rightful owners.

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><p>When he finally wakes, the sun is piercing, stabbing him through his closed eyelids. He only had a split-second of aware consciousness before he groaned, feeling like someone took an axe to his head. His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, trying to fight the glare of the sun's rays, turning his head to the side.<p>

He tried to breathe in deeply, and found himself curling up into himself as a coughing fit took over him, throat scratchy and sore and _goddamn someone was ripping his vocal chords out_. The fit and his movement caused his injury, which he had forgotten about, to flare up again, the pain increasing tenfold, and he gasped, eyes flying open.

Someone was staring at him.

His instincts kicked in and he stumbled to get up to a defensive stance, his previous agony forgotten and pushed aside for the moment, snarling as he reached back for his crossbow. Except it wasn't there. He noticed his familiar weapon propped up against the tree right behind the man. Arthur, he suddenly remembered. The man he saved in the river.

"You're awake," Arthur said bluntly.

He was sitting on a fallen log, elbows propped on each knee, shirtless, and it was then that Daryl noticed three things.

One, they weren't at the river anymore, though he could hear the faint sound of the water running nearby. It seemed as though Arthur had managed to either drag or carry Daryl to a drier bank close to the river. The steep cliff was behind them, several trees scattered around them.

Two, in Arthur's hand was Daryl's knife. The man's hand was wrapped around the handle in a vice-like grip, and there was what looked like fresh blood on the blade.

Three, there were two fallen walkers on the ground right in front of them.

"The hell happened?" Daryl growled, eyes narrowed warily at this stranger. He may have saved him from drowning, but here he was, weaponless, the only thing standing in between him and his crossbow being Arthur, and the man had taken his knife and showed no signs of letting go of it.

Arthur blinked, his expression blank. "You saved my life."

"Yeah I got that part, genius," Daryl snapped. His side throbbed again, and he placed his hand on the source of the pain and whipped his head down to his side once he realized something else: The arrow was gone, replaced with a familiar looking red cloth, wrapped tightly around his torso and pressing on his injury. "Did you do this?" he motioned toward his side, moving to wrap the cloth (which he figured was Arthur's shirt) a bit more securely around his waist.

Arthur, the frown he was wearing after Daryl's remark disappearing for the moment, glanced at the injury for a moment and nodded. "Well, I'm no Merlin," he muttered, "but I did the best I could, considering-"

Daryl's head snapped up at Arthur's statement. "What did you just say? Did you say Merle?"

Arthur frowned again, eyebrows creasing, as if offended that he had been interrupted. "No. Who's _Merle_? You… you spoke his name while you were unconscious."

Daryl blanched at that. "... I spoke?"

"Yes. I thought you had woken up, but you wouldn't respond to anything I said. You kept saying 'Merle.' The rest was pretty incoherent."

Daryl's stiff posture relaxed at this added piece of information; he was always a man that appreciated and valued his privacy, and knowing that this man, a complete stranger to him, caught him in a vulnerable state, one where he could have easily revealed far too much information about himself, made his skin crawl. He gave Arthur no chance to respond or question him any further before he gestured at the dead walkers. Well, as dead as dead people could possibly be. "What happened with these guys?"

Something in Arthur's expression darkened and a muscle in his cheek twitched, his jaw set. "I… I honestly have no idea. I was carrying you after I removed the arrow from your side and patched you up," - Daryl snorted- "hey, I tried, alright? I found this area for us to rest in. You weren't waking, and the only way I knew you weren't already dead was your incomprehensible mumbling.

"There was movement in the shrubs and bushes nearby, and I thought it may have been something I could hunt for dinner. I found this knife on you," Arthur stated, glancing back down at the blade.

"So you searched me! You looted me while I was unconscious like some freakin' vulture!"

"I needed a weapon," Arthur cut in sharply. "I had no clue they made crossbows that big, and I wasn't about to use it. _I meant no harm_."

Daryl scowled heavily and scoffed, but remained quiet. Arthur pursed his lips.

"So I went over to the noise, trying to see if I could ambush it before it escaped and…. Oh gods, it was a _human_. A _rotting human_. Its face… It was _gone_. And what remained was either hanging off or torn to shreds." Arthur blanched at the retelling of the incident, his grip on the knife even more pronounced than before, his knuckles turning white with the effort.

"Yup, that's a walker for you," Daryl muttered, sparing the corpses next to him a sidelong glance.

"Walkers?"

"Where have you been the last few months?" Daryl snapped impatiently. "Dead people. Roaming the streets. Taken over the world. Ain't exactly news."

"_Dead people_?"

"Good Lord, you're like another Grimes," Daryl sighed, running a hand across his face, lowering himself back to the ground. His headache felt like it increased by double, and it was joined with a slight wave of dizziness.

"Grimes?"

"Long story," Daryl said shortly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Arthur's constant questions were putting him in a fouler mood than he already was, but he tried for the man's sake to spare him as much as he could; if Arthur was anything like Rick, this may prove to be just as overwhelming to him as it was to the former sheriff. He squeezed his eyes shut quickly before opening them, trying to blink past the black dots forming in his vision again. "If you had no clue of what was happening, how's it you killed 'em?"

"... I don't know," Arthur shook his head, pale and starting to tremble slightly as the events of the day caught up to him. "I really don't." Daryl huffed. Then he slowly began to stand, stumbling a bit as another wave of dizziness hit him. Arthur watched him, alarmed. "What are you doing? You should be resting!"

"I got people waiting on me," Daryl growled, keeping a close eye on Arthur as he slowly, cautiously, approached the other man. Never taking his eyes off of Arthur, and moved to walk behind him, reaching over for his crossbow, instinctively working out ways to defend himself if Arthur were to lunge at him with the knife. Grabbing a hold of his crossbow, he almost leapt back, though somewhat awkwardly; placing too much weight on the leg below where his injury resides proved to be a bad idea. Arthur hadn't moved, instead studying Daryl with furrowed brows, tapping the flat part of the blade against his knee nervously. "Need to get back to 'em."

A look of protest overcame Arthur's face. "You should rest! Your injury-"

"I don't recall ever calling you my momma, so I really don't see how it's any of your damn business of what I should and shouldn't do," Daryl retorted, everything in his expression screaming danger. This Arthur had some nerve about him.

Arthur opened his mouth as if to say something else, but decided against it and shut it. This man clearly was not going to listen to him, and if he was going to pass out or even die from his untreated injury, then nobody would say Arthur didn't try. So he settled for glaring at Daryl instead with piercing, disapproving eyes.

Daryl rolled his eyes and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, grunting with the effort and slight pain it caused him. He began to walk backwards carefully, still refusing to take his eyes away from Arthur. Once he was far enough, he turned, knowing that this much distance between the two men would be enough so that if Arthur tried sneaking up on him, he's have time to react. When he didn't hear footsteps following him immediately afterwards, he glanced over his shoulder.

Arthur had not moved, still watching him from his place on the log.

Daryl scoffed, moving his free hand toward his injury. "You comin' or what?"

Arthur's blue eyes narrowed, as if contemplating whether or not to stay with this man. A complete stranger, and not a very trusting stranger at that. Yet, he had saved Arthur from drowning, and in turn he had attempted to save him the best he could. And he didn't even know his _name_.

"What's your name?" Arthur asked, still tapping the blade.

Daryl scowled. "Listen, you comin'? I ain't got time for 20 questions. You can stay here and feed the walkers for all I care, but I'm heading back. Your choice."

This time, when he turned back around to walk away, he heard prompt footsteps following him.

.:.

Unknown to Daryl and Arthur, somewhere not too far away in these same woods walked another person, clutching a bloodied hammer and machete, certainly looking worse for wear. His t-shirt was pretty much a torn rag for the good it did him, ripped to the point where it revealed his entire abdomen. His jeans were no better, falling apart at the hems. His entire frontside up to his chin was coated in mud from a previous encounter with a herd a week ago, and he hadn't been able to clean himself off since.

He glanced around him warily, calmly, the only exterior sign of the terror within him being his trembling grip on his weapons.

He didn't know what happened. One minute, he was finally resting after a long day of defending his hut from the undead, sleep capturing him the moment he hit the mattress. The next minute he was lying in a ditch on the side of a paved road, his prime weapons next to him and nothing else, the terrifying sound of the undead's moans reaching his ears.

He had no clue as to how he got there.

Though, once the terror of encountering the undead had worn off and he was well away from them, he knew one thing for certain.

He had been placed here for a reason.

There was a purpose for him being here, he could sense that much. It was in the back of his mind, struggling to be acknowledged. He knew there was something to be done, to be found, to be fixed, _something_. He just didn't know what.

His feet were guiding him although his mind had no clue where he was going, and though he was terrified and beside himself with panic at what he may encounter ahead, a fierce determination ignited in him to reach it and fulfill his purpose, no matter what the cost.

And so, a newfound strength that he hadn't felt in over a thousand years flowing through him, the warlock Merlin continued down his path.


	3. Chapter 2: Frantic

I apologize! I took a little longer coming up with this chapter! I wanted to get certain scenes as accurate as I pictured them and most of the time the emotion I tried portraying just didn't feel right. Well I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead or Merlin. They belong to AMC and Robert Kirkman, and BBC.

xXx

"There's a little girl," Daryl said sharply, the memory of why he was in the woods in the first place striking him. Beside him, Arthur started slightly at the sudden interruption to the previous uncomfortable silence. "'Bout yea high. Sophia's her name. Seen her?" he finished, glancing sideways to the other man.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. "You're the first person I've seen," he responded, quirking a brow as if it should have been obvious. "Is she lost?"

"Got attacked by a herd of those things," Daryl growled, his frustration increasing every second the young girl was missing. "She was being chased by two of 'em, and one of my group drew them away, but she'd already run off. Been looking for her since. So since you're here, might as well make yourself useful and help me look for her."

Arthur's eyes, widened momentarily at the revelation of the girl's fate, narrowed again at the jibe, and he replied curtly with a set jaw, "Certainly." And with nothing more to say, he increased his pace to walk further ahead of Daryl, his posture stiff, the tension in his bare shoulder blades very apparent.

Daryl huffed. He ignored the irritated man and cupped his hand around his mouth, crying out, "So_phi_a!"

Silence greeted him.

Daryl sighed, rubbed a hand against his face, barely noticing when it met a burning forehead and a thick layer of sweat.

The dizziness came out of nowhere, hitting him once again in fierce retribution, causing him to falter in his steps and breath heavily as he tried to blink past the black spots forming in his vision. His side was past throbbing now; it attacked him on the inside, agonizing pain striking him from his injury. He didn't know he had vocally announced his pain until he saw Arthur in front of him, a hand on his shoulder to halt his movements, a panicked, bewildered look on his face.

"Daryl?!"

Arthur's voice sounded muffled now. Daryl blinked, trying to step forward, and stumbling when the dizziness and pain struck him again. He heard a loud cry, and it barely registered in his mind that it was him.

"Daryl, no, no, no. You have to stay awake! Come on," Arthur's voice was too fast for his ears, and he felt a slight tapping on his face as Arthur tried to maintain his attention. His lungs felt heavier now, it was getting so hard to _breathe_. And suddenly he was on the ground, sprawled mercilessly and clumsily on the hard dirt path, Arthur crying out his name in alarm. The sunlight peeking through the tree canopy above him was almost blinding, causing the black in his vision to become more pronounced.

He tried. Goddamn he _had_ to stay awake_; Sophia was still out there dammit_!

But the darkness claimed him despite his inner turmoil, and the last thing he heard before he let out a final sigh was Arthur's terror-stricken voice crying out his name.

xXx

"Daryl? Daryl! Oh God, wake up!" Arthur cried out, shaking the unconsciousness redneck's shoulder as firmly as he could without being too rough. "Daryl!"

There was no response.

"Damn!" Arthur cursed, looking around him wildly, as if expecting help to appear from behind one of the trees.

Of course, he remembered with a horrified jolt, that wouldn't be the only thing that could pop out from behind the trees.

He cursed again, running a hand through his blonde hair. He had to get Daryl out of the woods somehow. He remembered Daryl mentioning something about a group that he belonged to, that he needed to get back to them before he remembered about Sophia. Perhaps he should look for them? How was he supposed to do that?

The little girl, Sophia... His heart grew heavy for at the thought of the little girl lost and alone in the woods, and he felt a stab of guilt cut through his heart as he realized he could no longer search for her. Daryl needed help now, and without it he would surely die.

Exhaling sharply, he hooked the large crossbow into the crook of his elbow and gently grabbed one of Daryl's limp arms, bending over as he dragged Daryl's body over his shoulder. He apologized softly as Daryl unconsciously groaned in pain with the movement. Grunting with the effort, Arthur slowly stood, ignoring the strain he felt from carrying the man and the prickling scratches he felt from the other's clothes.

Hoisting Daryl higher on his shoulders, and gripping his arms and ankles in a more secure grip, Arthur began to walk.

xXx

He didn't know how long he had been walking on the path Daryl had led them down, but when he finally collapsed to his knees, strained and panting and sweating, he had covered a great deal. They were following the river still, the trickle and rush of the water sounding nearby.

He struggled and shook as he lowered Daryl as carefully as he could to the ground, taking care to lay the man on his back. He cried out as the weight was taken from his shoulders and gasped as he almost literally had to peel Daryl from his bare skin, leaving behind angry dark welts on his shoulders from Daryl's clothes and in his elbow from the crossbow. He rubbed at the sore and tender areas, hissing as he removed the stiffness in his muscles.

He had to find help. There had to be someone out here that could help him. He was no physician, but even he could tell that from the way Daryl's breaths were coming out in wheezes and from the sheet of sweat covering the pale forehead that the other man's health was in danger.

There just had to be _someone_.

There was a snap of a twig.

Arthur jumped around, his eyes glancing around his surroundings frantically. Quickly he grabbed the discarded crossbow and lifted it. Though, he had no way of knowing whether he was holding it correctly; what kind of crossbow was this?

Leaves crunched nearby.

Arthur cursed and ducked behind the trees, pointing the crossbow so that the arrow was pointing away from him. Yes, he needed help. Daryl needed help. But what if the person wasn't friendly? Or what if it wasn't a person, but rather one of those _things_? Arthur swallowed thickly and exhaled slowly, peeking his head around the edge of the tree.

A figure was approaching. He couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, but it could see the shape of two weapons in their hands, one slightly gleaming in the sun, indicating to Arthur that the person had a knife or a sword of some kind. So, it was a person. A living person. But were they friend or foe?

The person was a few meters away now.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep, determined breath, Arthur quickly stood and stepped from the cover of the trees, aiming the crossbow and placing his finger where he found the trigger to be. The person, startled at Arthur's sudden appearance, halted abruptly with a surprised gasp.

"Who are you?" he demanded, stepping in front of Daryl's form.

The person - the man - said nothing, opting to gape at Arthur. Arthur's frown deepened as he took in the man's appearance. Clearly, he had been on the road for quite a while, if the thick, grimy mud covering his front from head to toe was any indication. He was also slouched forward in a weary fashion, despite his surprise at seeing Arthur. Yet, though he looked dead on his feet, the man stared at him in wild bewilderment, and looked as if he was going to move forward, but it was as if something were holding him back.

"Answer me! Who are you?" Arthur snarled, his finger inching forward as he prepared to fire the arrow. "I'm warning you…"

The man's mouth opened and closed repeatedly as he struggled to form words, giving him the comical expression of a fish. Finally, just as Arthur was about to completely lose his patience, a small whimper came from the other man.

"Arthur?"

That voice. Arthur glanced up from the scope of the crossbow and furrowed his brow. That voice… it sparked something within him. Something strongly familiar, something oddly comforting, something so utterly _obvious_ that he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. He knew that voice anywhere; he felt as if it were just yesterday that he heard it, but at the same time he felt like a lifetime, or maybe multiple lifetimes, had passed since he had heard it last. He gasped as a flood of memories crashed inside his mind as he lowered the crossbow, dropping it from his numb hands as he stared at the dirtied face of his best friend.

"Merlin."


	4. Chapter 3: Reunited and New Faces

I'm so sorry for the extremely long wait, everyone! I never knew just how busy college makes a person, regardless of the amount of free time I have. I'll be trying to work in some time to write during the remainder of the semester. So here's the next chapter, and I apologize for it being short. I just wanted an update on this story, and I'll hopefully be working on the next chapter shortly. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or Merlin.

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><p>"Oh my God," Merlin murmured thickly, the edges of his eyes crinkling as a sort of wild happiness erupted across his face, and the raven-haired man dropped his weapons and advanced toward Arthur as fast as his exhausted feet would allow.<p>

Arthur immediately dropped the crossbow, barely registering the clatter it made as it connected with the dirt ground as Merlin reached him and threw his arms around his neck, a dry sob wracking through his thin frame. Arthur returned the embrace fiercely, burying his face into his friend's hair, uncaring of the dirt and grime coating the black locks as he reveled in Merlin's presence.

Merlin was sobbing into his shoulder, and Arthur felt the tears running down the skin of his shoulder, felt the filth that covered Merlin now covering him, but not finding it in himself to care as he held his best friend in his arms after what seemed like centuries of not seeing him, (perhaps it was), whispering soothing words into Merlin's ear while trying to soothe himself as well.

"Oh my God," Merlin disbelieving, muffled voice repeated, and Arthur's grip only tightened.

Reluctantly, they pulled away from each other, but remained in close proximity. Merlin kept his hands on Arthur's forearms, leaving him at arm's length. "Arthur… How-"

"I was hoping that you could explain it to me, Merlin," Arthur said, smiling brightly past his red-rimmed eyes. "And we will talk, I promise." Arthur then turned serious, eyes flickering behind him. "But right now, this man needs help." He stepped slightly over to the side to reveal Daryl's still form.

Quickly, the physician in Merlin took over and he walked forward, dropping next to Daryl in a crouch. The gruff man's chest was heaving slightly with air, so he was still alive; however, one glance at his clammy, feverish skin indicated that he needed help. And soon.

"Is he alone?" Merlin asked, looking back at Arthur. Arthur shook his head.

"He mentioned that he was looking for a girl, and that he had people to go back to. I'm pretty sure I can track where he came from."

"They have to be nearby then," Merlin nodded, checking over Daryl's wound, wincing at Daryl's low groan and at the state of the injury. "We have to get him to them. I can't help him here."

Arthur nodded, and together they placed each of Daryl's arms over a set of shoulders, Arthur hauling the crossbow onto his shoulder once more, and they all set off down the path.

xXx

A cry ripped through the air at the Greene family farm.

"Rick! _Rick_! Someone's coming!"

The sheriff quickly sprinted towards the sound of Andrea's voice, meeting Dale at the back of the RV. The old man handed Rick his binoculars wordlessly, pointing at the tree line. Rick placed the binoculars to his eyes, and sure enough, he could make out the figures of two, maybe three people slowly making their way toward the farm.

"One's hurt," Rick observed, lowering the binoculars and facing Shane, who had limped as fast as he could to them as soon as Andrea shouted out. "Let's go meet them." By then, Glenn and T-Dog had also reached them and were gathering their own proper weapons.

"What if they're trouble, man?" Shane muttered, his fingers twitching toward his gun.

"It's you, me, Glenn, and T-Dog against two of them," Rick stated, holstering his gun while handing off an ax to Shane. "I think we'll be just fine."

Shane furrowed his brow and shrugged indifferently.

"I got you covered, in case something does go down," Andrea said from where she was on top of the RV.

Rick nodded. "Let's go!"

xXx

"That's it, that has to be it," Arthur growled with the dead weight of Daryl on his shoulders. Merlin grunted in response, lifting Daryl to a more comfortable position. Panting, Merlin looked up.

"A-Arthur," he whispered. "There are people coming."

Arthur lifted his head as far at the pain in his neck would allow him and saw that Merlin was right.

Four men were approaching them at a run, and one of them, though limping badly, was wielding an ax. Arthur slowed down to a stop, turning his head awkwardly to face Merlin past Daryl. "No sudden movements, Merlin. They may be his people; we don't want to get on their bad side."

Merlin only had time to nod before the men reached them. Merlin widened his eyes at the gun the man in front was pointing at them.

"Who are you?" The assumed leader of the group spoke, his rough, southern accent low and dangerous.

Before Arthur or Merlin had a chance to respond, the Asian man on his right gasped. "Rick? Th-that's Daryl! What are you doing with Daryl?"

"Please," Arthur gasped, lifting Daryl once again higher onto his shoulders. "We mean you no harm. Daryl saved my life. He was looking for a girl. Sophia, I believe."

The Asian boy and the black man exchanged wide-eyed glances, the man with the ax scowled, but the leader grew a bit more pensive at this information. He at least lowered his gun.

"How did you find us?" he asked.

"Daryl was going down a certain path before he were just trying to find his camp so that he gets help. Please, he's badly hurt!" Merlin pleaded, shifting Daryl once again.

Almost at once, the four men seemed noticed the bloodied make-shift bandage on Daryl's side that was still steadily seeping out blood, and his feverish, unconscious state. The leader at once began barking orders at the men at his side. The Asian and the black man quickly moved forward, depositing Daryl onto their own shoulders. Merlin and Arthur gave sighs of relief in unison, rubbing the pain and soreness out of their shoulders.

The Asian muttered a quick word of thanks, and the black man nodded in acknowledgement, before they set off toward the farm.

"Come with us," Rick said, turning and following the small party. Merlin and Arthur hesitated, glancing at each other.

"You heard 'im, man, move!" The ax-wielder bellowed, pointing the ax head at the two threateningly.

Arthur glared. "I don't-"

"Arthur, don't." The small murmur of Merlin's voice halted Arthur in his tracks. Grudgingly, Arthur set his jaw and fell into step with Merlin, following the group to the farm, the ax-wielder limping behind them.


End file.
